


Haven

by Countingcrows



Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson, Warbreaker - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: F/M, Post Oathbringer, Post-Book 03: Oathbringer, Pre-existing feelings, Romance, hinted at a pre-existing relationship, im soft for these dumb kids, ob spoilers? Maybe???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25266835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Countingcrows/pseuds/Countingcrows
Summary: Post OB.Vivenna finds Vasher in Urithiru and the two find a private moment in the middle of an  apocalypse together. Vasher never was the best with words, but Vivenna always found a way to get the truth out him.Set in Vashers POV
Relationships: Vasher | Zahel/Vivenna | Azure
Comments: 10
Kudos: 39





	Haven

**Author's Note:**

> This ship is so quiet and this fandom is pretty dead so I’m not sure if anyone will even read this, but I love these two old goobs. I wrote this randomly at 2 am on my phone so, sorry it’s a little all over the place. Hope you enjoy regardless!

It’s been decades since he’s seen her. She’s aged, though only slightly. She holds herself more confidently these days, though whenever he looks at her he only ever sees the scared lost princess in way over her head. He knows she’s matured from their first meeting; he knows how strong she’s become. However, around him she always softens. Around him, she feels safe. 

It feels good to be able to protect something, he thinks. After all the lives he’s taken; all of the friends he’s betrayed, it feels good to know she still relies on him. He’s carved a bloody path in history, and yet she chooses to walk beside him. Proud. 

He studies Vivenna in the dim firelight. She watches the logs burn, eyes twinkling as she studies dancing flamespren. Her short hair is kept a stark black, controlled and relaxed now that the two of them were alone. When she had first arrived in Urithiru, upon finding him her hair had immediately shifted from black to red to yellow. He almost smiled at the memory. 

She’s beautiful. She always has been. With her small nose and her thick eyelashes, Vivenna had never needed makeup to enhance her appearance. His eyes travel down her face and rest on her lips, a soft amused smile twisting up the edges. He thinks of them as he often does, remembering how soft they are. How gentle. It’s been a long time since he’s felt them. It’s been a long time since he’s felt  _ her.  _

He’s as much a different man as she is a different woman. Once a man who was never the best at swordplay teaches the art to kings. Once a man who was a king, now a man who serves them. He never thought a crown suited him, anyway. 

He’s still terrible with words. He’s still quick to temper. He swears and curses and finds himself frustrated more often than not, but he still enjoys his life here on this strange planet with men the size of beasts and beasts the size of gods. He’s surprised by how badly he wants to stay. He justifies it on the Investiture (those storms helped him stay alive, after all), but he always was the kind to grow attached. He had watched those princes grow into fine young men, and even that captain boy had grown on him, like persistent moss on an old log. Fitting, since Vasher was an old, old man. 

Looking at Vivenna though, his attachment to Roshar and it’s inhabitants paled in comparison. 

He hated admitting that. If Nightblood were still around, he’d have never heard the end of it. 

_ She’s pretty _ , the sword would say.  _ You like her. You probably even love her. You’d leave this planet in a heartbeat if she asked you to.  _

She is. He does. He would. 

Colours, but it was true. 

He distracts himself by pouring two cups of wine. The deep purple liquid sloshes around the goblets as he pours them, tact and care never were Vashers style. A few droplets land on the hard wood of the table before him, and he eyes them warily before picking up the goblets and walking slowly over to Vivenna. 

He stands beside her before the fire, keeping a distance. He silently holds out the goblet and she readily accepts, studying him for a moment with an amused expression. He can feel himself being dissected under her scrutiny. She was the last living person to truly know him, under the hard mask he wore everyday. She could easily tell why he kept his distance. He hated her for it. 

“I thought Ardents couldn’t drink wine this dark,” Vivenna broke the silence, her mouth a coy smile that she covers with the rim of the goblet before taking a small sip. 

“They can’t,” was his only response before he took a deep mouthful. 

He had purposefully stolen a carafe of the deepest, most potent wine he could find. He hadn’t expected Vivenna to actually partake (a mistake that he would soon come to regret), and had instead thought he could drink enough to keep his incessant thoughts of her at bay. It had worked so far. 

Unfortunately she hadn’t been in front of him until this point. 

“I found Nightblood,” she changes the topic to a different form of torture. He endures it, taking another mouthful of wine. 

“Convenient that he’s here, in the same city as both of us,” Vasher says drily, eyes pointedly fixed on the crackling fire. 

“Sounds almost destined.”

“I’m sure destiny is happy that you didn’t go the wrong direction a second time— _ hey,”  _ he glares at her after she pulls her elbow out of his ribs. His side smarts and he rubs it absently with his free hand. 

“How was  _ I _ supposed to know that if I followed those bloody kids to  _ Thaylen _ he’d show up?” Vivenna returns his glare with equal force, holding her head high and adopting a tone of indignation fit for a princess. 

“You met with two Radiants and a prince in the middle of an apocalypse,” he rolls his eyes. “How many more signs do you need?”

“A few, apparently,” she relaxes, the roots of her hair bleeding back to a uniform black to hide the small bits of red that had come through when she was quick to anger. The red fades slowly, though, Vivenna not caring much for a perfect control in front of him. She couldn’t hide much from him, and vice versa. 

He snorts in response and takes another mouthful of wine. He knows he can’t get drunk—not with this pitiful amount of alcohol, anyway—but the distraction from Vivenna eases his nerves. He’s got it down to a ritual at this point.  _ Think of Vivenna. Curse himself. Drink. Stop thinking of Vivenna.  _ Wash, rinse, repeat. 

He glances behind her at where her sword rests against a wall. He hadn’t trusted anyone since Shashara to know the secret of how to make a BioChromatic weapon. The first time hadn’t worked out in his favour, but Vivenna wasn’t Shashara.

_ No, she’s not Shashara, _ he reminds himself, as he often does.  _ Shashara is dead. You killed her. Your own wife. Vivenna is alive. You trust her. You want to trust her. You  _ need _ to. You can’t kill her, too.  _

He could. He knew he was capable. He’d killed many people he had loved. He just didn’t  _ want  _ to kill her. He didn’t want to kill any of the others, either. 

_ Vivenna is different _ , he thinks adamantly.  _ She’s different. She won’t betray you. You won’t betray her.  _

“You never were a man of many words,” Vivenna pulls him into the present, her voice a steady constant that simultaneously eased his anxiety and flared it. “But one would think you’d have  _ something _ to say after not having seen your old friend for several decades.”

He scowled at the fire, choosing silence as the safest course of action. He had never been good with words, and she bloody well knew that. One of the many downsides to their history was the fact that she had the ability to tease him. 

“Was ‘friend’ too forward?” Vivenna sighs airily, her amused tone never wavering. “Should I have said ‘companion’ or ‘confidant’?”

“How about ‘pain in my ass’?” He suggests, daring to glance at her out of the corner of his eye. 

She laughs. It’s easy. Genuine. She brings up a hand to try and cover her mouth like she always does, hiding the emotion in a typical Austre way. He likes it when she laughs, even when she does it for a stupid reason. It makes him feel a twist in his gut, deep and wrenching, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a very long time. It’s not unpleasant. 

Then again, neither is she. 

“I suppose that’s apt,” she grins, turning to face him. “Though you seem to be a glutton for punishment, considering you haven’t gotten rid of me yet.” 

“I was rid of you for decades,” he takes another swig. “It was a blissfully quiet period in my life. I miss it already.”

“You didn’t miss me?” She’s genuinely curious. 

He’s quiet for a moment, hesitating on what to say. “...I didn’t say that,” he finally admits, wincing after he does. 

Her grin melts into a soft smile, full of fondness. “Good,” she sounds victorious. Vasher rolls his eyes. 

They lapse into silence once more, drinking their wine and watching the fire burn before them. Vasher had always preferred a real log to a fabrial. There was something almost poetic about a fire burning; the log withering away into nothing. For a man who was effectively timeless, it reminded him of how fleeting life was. There in an instant; gone the next. He appreciated it more next to Vivenna. For the moment, she was here, with him. He wanted to savour it, for all the good it would do him. 

He can feel her staring at him. Unravelling him with her eyes, chipping away at the stone he surrounds himself with. He feels almost naked in front of her. Exposed.

“What?” He snaps, turning to glare at her when he can’t take her staring any longer. 

Her eyes are fond when they meet. He feels a flare of momentary panic, and averts his gaze. His eyes flicker from her nose to the wall behind her to her sword and then eventually they rest back on her mouth once more. 

_ Colours. I’m a fool.  _

“Nothing,” she shrugs, her mouth toying with a small smirk. “I just thought you looked dumb in your Ardent robes.”

“At least I can change my clothes,” he rolls his eyes. “You’ll always be stuck with that face.” 

Her hair bleeds red again, and her mouth opens up for a quick retort. He finds himself waiting in excited anticipation. He loves getting under her skin as much as she loves getting under his. For a man who was a handful of centuries old, he couldn’t help but enjoy the rare times he was able to act childish with her. 

“And it seems  _ you’ll  _ always be stuck with that  _ smell! _ ” She hissed back, putting her free hand on her hip and cocking it to the side. 

“And  _ you’ll— _ ,” he stopped, freezing in place when he noticed himself stepping towards her. He had maintained a solid six foot distance from her, but now he was encroaching on dangerous territory.

He met her eyes. They looked impatient, and she watched him with a ferocity he hadn’t seen in a long time. She wasn’t waiting for a comeback to her quip.

_ Colours. Colours.  _ Colours _.  _

“Nothing to say?” She quirked a thin brow, composing herself. Her hair was still bleeding red, giving her away. 

He opened and closed his jaw, clenching and grinding his teeth together as he fought with himself to gain control. She always did know how to get under his skin. She had wormed her way under it and burrowed herself directly into his heart. She had made a nest there, filling it with her haughty indignation he had come to grow fond of. 

He hated her. He loved her. He hated that he loved her. 

“Things were a  _ lot _ easier when I didn’t know you,” he grumbled to himself, taking another mouthful of wine. 

“The same can be said about you,” she snapped back, but there was less bite in it. She sounded slightly hurt, and when he dared to look at her again she was desperately trying to beat down her wounded expression. 

“Vivenna,” he sighed, shoulders slumping as he reached out with his free hand for her. He was too far to touch her, so his arm held aloft awkwardly in the air before dropping down uselessly to his side. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m bad with words. I’m… sorry.” 

“I know,” she raised her free hand to wrap around herself, eyes shifting to stare at the fire instead of him. “I know, Vasher, but still. Do you really regret meeting me that much? I can leave, again, if it’s easier on you. I won’t look for you again. Just send me away.” 

She looked at him then. Her eyes wide and a little glossy. Hair red, black and a little brown. Her face looked dejected. Hopeful. She was a myriad of contradictions, but in a way that was one of the many reasons they suited each other. 

“No, Vivenna.  _ No _ . I do not regret meeting you,” he surprised himself with the ferocity of his adamant tone. He was never good with words but he’d make her understand. She had to know how much she meant to him. “I’d never regret meeting you. You’re annoying. Brattish. Quick to judge. But you’re also brave.  _ Kind _ . I am a better man when I am with you. You’re the one decision I’ll never regret. Never.” 

In an instant he was in front of her, empty goblet discarded and forgotten on the floor. His hands reached up to cup her face and  _ colours _ it felt good to touch her again. Her skin was as soft as he remembered it, and the feeling of their skin connecting was almost electric. His heart thrummed in his ears, drowning out the crackling of the fire to their right. 

He was always a man of more actions than words. In all the years that he had known Vivenna, the times where he was verbally affectionate had been few and far between. She had never seemed to mind, but considering how long they had been apart, a reaffirmation of his persistent affections seemed to be needed. 

He kissed her. Long and slow and a little rough at the beginning. He never was a patient man, even though he had nothing but time on his hands. She leaned into him with ease, melting like ice on a hot summers day. Her body was soft, curved where his was hard and edged despite her own defined muscles from years of sword fighting. She met him evenly, fervently, even a little desperately. If he didn’t know she needed to breathe, he would never have pulled away from her. 

He leaned down to rest his forehead against hers, one hand slipping from her cheek to twirl a lock of her vibrant red hair around his fingers. Her face was flushed and she worked her fingers in the material of his shirt, twisting and smoothing the fabric in hasty anxious movements. He could tell her mind was a blur. Funnily enough, for the first time since he had seen her again, his mind was still. Sure. He had made the right decision. He had no regrets. 

“I thought Ardents weren’t allowed to have relationships outside the Ardentia,” she finally breathed out, breaking the silence. 

“They’re not,” he said, before kissing her again. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who enjoys vivasher or sla in general, please feel free to come scream at me abt them on my tumblrs: countofcrows (writing) or kinqscrown (art)


End file.
